Mojo's Knees, Redux

When we first got the news that Mojo -- at the delicate age of maybe a year and a half -- needed surgery for a bum knee, we knew we were in for a tough slog. We were told it would take on the order of 3 months until his body could heal and he could fly free of his leash once again. Like in all things canine, it’s tough to explain to the guy that this too shall pass; that his goofy Elizabethan collar would be temporary; that our joyful forays of chasing one another around the house must be put on hold; and that his weeks long rehab might be fun, sort of. We followed the script and kept him under a proverbial lock and key -- indeed, virtual house arrest -- for the past 2 months. I kept telling the folks, who had become accustomed to seeing Mojo and me in the early morning hours on the beach, that his re-appearance was almost imminent and that I would bring a bottle of champagne to the beach in mid-July to celebrate his rediscovered freedom.

All that was until the other day when I brought Mojo back for some scheduled post-surgery x-rays. The surgeon matter-of-factly advised me that while Mojo’s recovery from the surgery was going swimmingly well, Mojo’s other rear knee was in need of repair as well. He showed me the x-ray and tried to point out in detail the growing fluid on the bad knee and the loss of muscle mass there. To the surgeon, it was not an “if” question, but a “when” question. He opined that the final tearing of the tendon could be in 6 weeks or 6 months, but it was coming as surely as next winter. In a flash, “deflating” had a new poster child. My mind had already been on a schedule that would envision a return to the beach for the rest of Mojo’s life in a matter of weeks. We could get through this unfortunate delay knowing the finish line was looming. Hearing that any such prison break would be, at best, temporary, forced my brain to entertain a mid-course correction of my expectations. It could be done because it has to be done, but I think it’s going to take a while to sell me on it.

And, this does not begin to confront the issue of cost, which, as they say, ain’t chicken feed. As I became fond of telling folks, it’s not as if Blue Cross covers these procedures. I suspect they wouldn’t look too kindly on a bill submission for MCL surgery for a four-legged dependent.

I am taking some comfort -- perhaps as a delusion -- that the angst here is all mine and not Mojo’s. I try to think that dogs don’t appreciate the passage of time -- more specifically, the painfully slow passing of it -- as humans do. They truly live in an “it is what it is” world. Right? I’m clinging some to the notion that notwithstanding the physical discomfort and a replay of the slow rehab process, Mojo is not thinking, as I am, “when the hell can we get back to the beach?” I want to be right about this.

Maybe I’ll age that bottle of champagne a bit more.